


Slipped Into This

by fitofpique



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/pseuds/fitofpique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick leaned close, a stupid smile plastered all over his face, and Daryl was so happy to see him looking like that, after everything they'd been through, that he was willing, for the first time in his life, to be the butt of the joke. Just so long as that light stayed in Rick's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipped Into This

**Author's Note:**

> For Lizzie, forever ago. Happy belated, Bee! Thank you to Thirdbird for the beta.

They sprinted to the top of the hill and Daryl folded over at the waist, panting for breath and watching blood drip from his hair. Beside him, Rick did the same. They straightened up and locked eyes. Daryl opened his mouth to speak but Rick shook his head and bent back over, gagging and coughing, spitting into the straw-dry grass. After a second, he groaned and stood up, then used the crook of his arm to try to squeegee some of the gore off his face. Daryl went through his pockets and found a crinkled napkin in his jeans and a slightly worse for wear handkerchief in the inside pocket of his vest. He offered the handkerchief to Rick.

"No, you need it," Rick said, shaking his head and splattering clotted blood everywhere. He reached out to wipe a dark smear off Daryl's arm and then caught sight of his filthy hands and frowned deeply. "Well, shit."

Daryl shook the handkerchief at him. "Trust me when I say you need it worse." He snagged a chunk of something unimaginable out of Rick's hair and wiped his hand on his back pocket. "You're a goddamn mess."

Rick laughed. "That'll teach me to try and take one for the team."

"Is that what you was doing?" Daryl said. "Thought you were just dragging your sorry old ass."

"Shut it," Rick said, but one side of his mouth inched up. He flicked something off Daryl's shoulder and accepted the handkerchief with a little dip of his chin. He started to wipe his face, but mostly ended up just smearing the black gloop around. His coughed some more and then turned the handkerchief over and tried again. "Never seen one explode quite like that."

"That was new," Daryl agreed. He was doing a half-assed job cleaning off his face, but he knew it was no good. The smell alone made him want to run away from himself, and he was no delicate flower. He shook his head and crumpled the disintegrating napkin into a ball in his fist. He rummaged through his pack for a pair of binoculars and slowly scanned the forest around them.

Rick gave up on his face and started dabbing at the blood on his arms. "Think I'm going to need a bigger handkerchief."

Daryl huffed out a rusty laugh. "We need to find water," he said, "and shelter. Ain't gonna make it back before dark." A faint glimmer in the distance caught his eye. He handed the binoculars to Rick and gestured southwest. "That what I think it is?"

Rick stared silently into the distance. "A chimney? Looks like." He handed the binoculars back and wiped his face again before shoving the handkerchief in his back pocket. "I'll get that laundered for you," he said.

"Damn straight." Daryl shouldered his pack again and lifted his crossbow. "Bullets?"

"A few," Rick said, drawing his knife from its sheath. "Let's hope we won't need them."

Daryl shook his head. "That always works so well."

 

:::

For once it did. They only ran into one walker, and it was missing an arm so it didn't put up much of a fight. And it didn't blow up, for which Daryl was profoundly grateful. The glint of metal was a chimney, on a cabin that looked to be in pretty decent shape. Rick jimmied open a window, popped the screen off, and let it clatter to the floor inside. They waited, listening intently, but all was quiet so they squeezed in through the window and checked the cabin over room by room. The place was undisturbed, solid and easy to secure. Shutters over the windows, heavy lock on the door. Just four rooms – living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom – but also a Coleman stove, with fuel, some food, furniture, and a stack of split logs by the fireplace.

"Someone really cared about this place," Rick said.

Daryl nodded. This place was nothing like the shithole hunting cabins he was used to it. Hell, it was a million times nicer than any place he'd ever called home.

"Let's find a way to get cleaned up so we don't mess it up."

Daryl shot him a questioning look, but Rick just shrugged. "This was someone's favorite place once."

 

:::

They unlocked the cabin's back door and looked out at the small cedar deck.

"Oh my God," Rick said.

Daryl looked at him. "Is that–?"

"I think so. You think there's anything in it?"

They tried to walk out the door at the same time and got jammed up around the shoulders. "Good lord," Daryl said, stepping back and shoving Rick out, both of them stifling laughter. He stayed close as Rick crossed the deck to check out the enclosure in the far corner.

They peered into the stall and then Rick jumped up onto the deck railing, one hand on Daryl's shoulder for balance, to peer into the tank. "It's full," he said, palming the side of the water tank. "Maybe even warm." He jumped down and clapped a hand on Daryl's shoulder, leaning into him. "A shower, Daryl!"

Daryl accepted the touch for a second and then gently shrugged Rick off. "Let's barricade the stairs."

They lugged a picnic table from the clearing up onto the deck and propped it up against the railing, then lashed it there with a couple of old pieces of rope. "Think it'll hold?"

"For a while," Rick said, giving it a kick with his dusty boot. "I'll do a sweep." He climbed over the makeshift barricade and got his knife out again. Daryl hefted his crossbow and was about to follow when Rick turned back. "I got it. See if you can find soap and stuff,” he said, disappearing into the trees at the far side of the cabin.

Daryl found towels in a closet in the hall, clean if a little musty, and a couple of bars of soap, shampoo, shaving cream, and a bunch of disposable pink razors under the sink in the bathroom. He was rising to his feet, knees creaking, when he heard the shower start.

Rick was in the stall, naked and dripping wet, when Daryl joined him outside not even a minute later, but the water was already off. "Don't want to waste it," he explained, when Daryl raised an eyebrow. "I'll stand out here and soap up while you get wet, and then we can switch off."

Daryl threw the towels over the railing and piled the soap and stuff on the little shelf outside the shower. He shrugged out of his vest and let it fall to the deck.

Rick stepped unselfconsciously out of the shower, unwrapped a bar of soap, and started lathering it up in his hands.

Daryl dropped his gaze, kicked out of his boots, and focused on unbuttoning his shirt, hesitating before stripping it off. He sighed at himself. It wasn't anything Rick hadn't seen before. It was hard to have secrets, living in each other's pockets the way they did. So Daryl's childhood had left scars, so fucking what. Everyone’s did. The ones you could see weren't even always the worst of them.

He unbuckled his belts, dropped his pants and boxers, and started for the shower. He almost jumped out his skin when Rick groaned, deep in his chest. The sound went like whiskey through Daryl's blood, made his heart pound hard all the way up in his throat. He knew Rick wasn't looking at him, that he was just enjoying getting clean, but his body apparently couldn't tell the difference. There was nothing he could do about it, but man. He hated himself sometimes.

"Damn," Rick said. "Never thought getting clean could feel so goddamn good."

Daryl managed to walk by him without turning to look. "You want some alone time?" he said, forcing himself to keep his voice light.

Rick gave a low laugh. "Almost."

Daryl got in the shower and pulled the cord to start the water flowing, shivering as the first drops fell onto his overheated skin. He turned in a slow circle, head back and eyes closed, getting thoroughly drenched. He looked down, wiped his eyes, and watched the filthy water swirl around his feet. He ran his hands through his hair, made sure it was soaked through, then pulled the cord again. He stepped out of the stall and Rick was there, pressing the soap into his hand, brushing past him to rinse off.

The casual contact sent a shiver of pleasure through Daryl, and he almost dropped the soap. Hell, if he thought it'd work … he cursed himself silently and started soaping up. He made quick work of it, didn't linger the way he might have if he were alone, and moved on to washing his hair as fast as he could, tracking Rick's movement in the shower until the threat of dripping soap forced him to squeeze his eyes closed.

"All yours," Rick said, stepping out onto the deck and grabbing one of the towels.

Daryl ducked into the shower again, stuck his head under the stream of water, letting the soap and his momentary discomfort rinse away down the drain. He could get through this without embarrassing himself. He and Rick'd been in close quarters before and he'd kept his cool, nobody any the wiser far as he could tell. He turned off the water and Rick was there again, handing him a towel and then looking away while Daryl roughly dried himself off and then wrapped it around his waist.

Daryl's eyes fell on the razors and shaving cream on the little shelf. "Not going to shave, Santa?" he asked.

Rick punched him in the arm and then rubbed at his bearded chin. "I'm used to it now. You?"

"Nah," Daryl said. "Just grows back."

There was some water left, so they rinsed their stuff and draped it over the deck railings and the shower stall. "Be dry by morning," Rick said.

They put a row of old coke bottles and mason jars on the stairs up to the deck and dragged the picnic table until it was snugged up against the cabin and then locked and bolted the door behind them.

 

:::

Rick stood on tiptoe and peered into the cupboard over the fridge. He dragged over a kitchen chair and hopped onto it, pulled out a dark bottle and stared down at it.

"What is it?"

"Shiraz," Rick said. "Not quite what I was hoping for, but what the hell." He stepped off the chair, refastened his towel around his waist when it threatened to slip off, and starting looking through the drawers for a corkscrew.

Daryl leaned against the counter and watched.

When Rick got it open, he took a couple of long, thirsty swallows straight from the bottle. "Not bad."

"Give it here," Daryl said, sticking out his hand. Rick handed it over, grinning at him, wide and laidback. Daryl hadn't seen him look like that, not in a long time, and he had to drink deeply to push down the sudden swell of feeling tightening his throat. He couldn't help thinking about Rick's lips on the mouth of the bottle, his Adam's apple working as he swallowed. He didn't even try.

"Hits the spot, don't it?" Rick said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest.

Daryl grimaced, taking another quick drink and handing the bottle back. The wine was warming him from the inside out, but it was almost sundown and the cabin was starting to cool down. He shivered and adjusted his towel. "Find some clothes?" he asked, gesturing down the hall.

"All right."

There was a dresser in the bedroom. Daryl opened the top drawer and peered in. "Huh," he said, sliding it closed again. He opened the next drawer and pulled out a t-shirt, unfolded it and held it up.

"Kind of small," Rick said, his forehead wrinkling. He took another swallow of wine, set the bottle down on top of the dresser, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Daryl opened the bottom drawer. Pajama pants with flowers on them, others with purple stripes. Cutoffs. Those stupid pants that hit mid-shin. He closed the drawer and then took another look around the room.

Rick was halfway into the closet, rattling hangers around. He stuck his head back out. "It's a woman's cabin."

"No shit, Sherlock." Daryl opened the top drawer again and stirred one finger through the neat piles of panties, shaking his head.

Rick came over and peered into the drawer with him. He pulled out a cream pair, covered with blue roses, like something on an old lady's teacup. "You’d look great in these." He looked at Daryl, panties dangling from his index finger, one eyebrow tilted up, smirking but not mean, like they were buddies who joked around like this all the time, all fun and no sharp edges.

"Shut up," Daryl said, after a pause that was maybe a few seconds too long. He elbowed Rick in the arm and went to back to staring sullenly into the drawer, like a pair of boxers might magically appear if he glared hard enough.

"Nah, you're right. Those aren't you at all." Rick stuck his hand into the drawer again and pulled out a slinky black pair, with a panel of lace in the middle. "These, on the other hand–" He leaned close to Daryl, a stupid smile plastered all over his face, and Daryl was so happy to see him looking like that, after everything they'd been through, that he was willing, for the first time ever, to be the butt of the joke. Just so long as that light stayed in Rick's eyes.

All his life, Daryl had watched as people around him slid effortlessly into friendships, but he never once came close. Not in the neighborhood, when he was a kid, never at school, that minefield of snobs and bullies, and sure as hell not any time since. Hell, Merle always had a handful of people that seemed to honestly like hanging around him, and he was a total asshole. Even Daryl’s old man had had friends, or at least drinking buddies, for fuck’s sake. Daryl never could figure it out.

He and Rick hadn't slipped easily into friendship, that was for damn sure, but they'd ended up there just the same. It was hard work trusting someone, for Daryl especially, but he'd learned that with Rick his trust was, for once, not misplaced. It wasn't that Rick never made mistakes – he'd made many, they all had – it was that he never stopped trying to do the right thing. And that made Daryl want to try too, even when he hadn't the slightest clue what the right thing was. Like now, for example. Trying to keep the mood light, trying to make someone else keep laughing. It wasn't something Daryl had any experience with, but he didn't let that stop him.

"Fine," he said, grabbing the panties out of Rick's hand and dropping his towel. He shook the panties out to make sure they weren't back to front, stepped awkwardly through the leg holes, and skimmed the dark slippery stuff up and over his ass and dick. Mostly. There wasn't as much to them as he'd thought, so they were on the indecent side. He adjusted them as best he could without groping himself too obviously. "Happy?" he asked, dropping his hands to his hips and striking a moronic pose.

He hadn't had time to imagine Rick's reaction but, if he had, he'd have guessed it'd be hysterical laughter. Instead, Rick stared at him, smile fading from his face in slow motion. Daryl watched as Rick's eyes slid from his face, down the slope of his chest, to the flat of his stomach.

"Christ," Rick grated out, staring blatantly at the panties.

Daryl ducked his head and was about to spend some quality time regretting his inability to read a room when he noticed Rick was pitching a pretty impressive tent under his towel.

"This is awkward," Rick said, when he saw that Daryl'd noticed.

Daryl bit his lip and shook his head slowly. Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he said, "It don't have to be."

"Daryl," Rick said, still staring at the panties. At Daryl's dick in the panties. His voice was rough and breathless.

The sound of it squeezed the air out of Daryl's lungs and made him go instantly, dizzyingly hard. His heart thumped crazily in his chest, and he flinched when Rick reached out and palmed the side of his neck. He got hold of himself and stilled, let Rick tilt his chin up with his thumb, forced himself to look Rick in the eyes.

"Daryl," Rick repeated, and then softer, his voice still husky. "It's all right."

Good lord and butter. Why the hell was Rick reassuring him? Daryl needed to tell him … tell him it didn't mean nothing. He knew Rick was just lonely. They could just forget it ever happened. Well, Rick could. Daryl clenched his hands into frustrated fists and glanced away, trying to collect his scattered thoughts, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Rick was looking too. The strain of the moment showed on his face but so did something else, something Daryl hadn't seen much but recognized just the same, and in that moment everything in him yielded. He had no idea who started the kiss, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered except that it didn't end.

Rick slid his hand down Daryl's throat, his shoulder, his ribs, until his whole body was trembling. He pressed in close, felt the shape of Rick's chest against his, his erection through the towel, and worried for a minute he was going to lose it right there.

"Daryl," Rick mumbled again, and Daryl could feel his lips curving up.

"Shhh," Daryl said, kissing him hard and nudging his hips closer, but Rick just groaned and pushed him back with a gentle hand on his chest.

"Wait," Rick said. He stared at Daryl, lips red, eyes sultry and serious.

Daryl couldn't believe Rick wanted to talk now, for Christ’s sake, but he nodded and eased back a bit.

Rick grabbed his hand. "We look after each other, right?"

Daryl felt tension creeping into his body, coiling around his muscles, and he prickled with suspiciousness. As usual, it was an effort to wrestle it down. "You gotta ask?"

"No," Rick said, tilting his head and forcing Daryl to meet his eyes. "Hey, no." He pressed his thumb into the heart of Daryl's palm, and it sent a jolt of pleasure shuddering up his spine and melting through him. "Just thought I should say it."

"There are other ways," Daryl said, leaning closer, pressing their hips together.

"Yeah," Rick agreed, sliding his hand between them and groping Daryl's cock. "Better ways."

"Get this off," Daryl said, tugging the towel from Rick's hips and throwing it aside. He let his hands curl into the small of Rick's back so he could pull him close again. He was in such a giddy, exhilarated panic that he almost didn't know what to do with himself, where to touch Rick first. He pressed his mouth to the nearest skin he could find, the tight curve where Rick's neck met his shoulder. He bit and sucked gently, memorizing the sound Rick made when he set his teeth to him, and blindly followed when Rick started walking backward, leading him to the bed tucked against the wall, under the window. Rick sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Daryl between his widespread knees, leaned in and pressed a hot kiss to the black panties stretched obscenely over his throbbing dick. The red light of the late evening sun set the room on fire and every cell in Daryl's body lit up with savage pleasure.

It wasn't right. It should be Daryl on his knees in front of Rick, worshipping him the way he'd ached to for so long, but Rick looked up at him imploringly, his eyes hooded and hungry. "Let me," he said, and it wasn't a question, so Daryl didn't answer, he just pressed his erection against Rick's lips and let his eyes sink closed.

Daryl's legs almost gave out when Rick opened his mouth and sucked at his cock through the panties – they would have, if Rick hadn't had an arm around his thighs. It felt like the room was cracking open around him, his heartbeat shaking through his whole body. He reached out and gripped Rick's shoulders, moaned low in his throat. There was no way he was going to live through this, Rick mouthing him wetly through the thin fabric, his hands sliding up and grabbing at Daryl's ass, shadows sliding down the walls as the night fell.

Daryl's palms followed the curve of Rick's neck up until he was cupping the back of his head, threading his fingers into his hair, pressing them into his scalp. His hips thrust involuntarily when Rick moaned against him.

He felt Rick drawing back and forced his eyes open, shivered when Rick looked up at him with dark eyes and slick, parted lips.

"Let me look at you," he said, his voice low and intimate. "You are gorgeous."

Daryl wanted to tell him to stop, but he wanted it to hear it so much he couldn't say a word. All he could do was look away, moan again through clenched teeth, and stare blindly at the walls. The room smelled of sex now, mingled with dust and old linen, and the sensation of Rick's eyes on him was a thrill of heat and pleasure at the very edge of tolerance. He trembled almost uncontrollably as Rick pressed his lips to the sharp bone of Daryl's hip, kissed down his belly, placed a burning kiss high on each inner thigh, and he swayed on his feet when Rick slid his hands under the fabric of the panties to grip his ass tight, fingers digging in.

"Oh, fuck," he said.

Rick laughed and mouthed Daryl's erection again. "You like that," he murmured.

"Yeah," Daryl breathed, practically whimpering as Rick finally dragged the panties down his hips and let them fall to the floor.

Somehow it still came as a shock when Rick dropped to his knees and pulled Daryl in by his hips, slid his mouth over Daryl's dick. Already Daryl's face was burning, his breath was coming hard in his chest. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He touched Rick's face, skating his fingertips over his cheekbones and beard and letting them trail down to rest on Rick's lips where they were wrapped around his dick. He made the mistake of prying his eyes open and looking down. Rick was flushed, eyes closed, wearing an intent, almost euphoric expression as he sucked Daryl steadily. He was jerking himself off, hand a blur of motion between his thighs, and that was all it took for Daryl's legs to give out for real. And then they were both on their knees, mouths meeting in the middle.

"Gotta touch you," Daryl said in a ragged voice.

"Please," Rick said, pressing his hips forward, groaning loudly when Daryl finally wrapped a hand around him. "I'm so close."

"Yeah," Daryl agreed, sighing into Rick's mouth when he starting stroking Daryl, fast and tight. Daryl matched the rhythm, pressing his thumb into the hinge of Rick's jaw so he could kiss him deep, taste his teeth and tongue. He was coming apart. His thighs clenched and shook and he flexed his hips, driving his cock into Rick's hand, and felt Rick do the same, tasted the soft, gasping sounds he made when he started to lose rhythm. He was only dimly aware of Rick hauling him closer, gritting his name out between clenched teeth, as waves and waves of an almost violent pleasure washed through him, leaving him limp and trembling and spent, clinging to Rick's body with an intensity that might have been embarrassing if Rick weren't clinging back just as tightly.

They leaned against each other, chests heaving in tandem. Daryl rested his shaking hands on the mattress on either side of Rick, goose bumps rising on his arms as the sweat cooled on his skin.

In his head, he was already trying to figure out what to do next, how to make things easy for Rick, give them both a way out of this bizarre situation he'd created. But it was hard to think about anything but the light press of Rick's lips on the slope of his shoulder, his fingers skimming tenderly down the bumps of Daryl's spine, coming to rest in the small of his back. So many feelings were surging through him that he almost couldn't breathe, and he couldn't speak even if he wanted to.

Eventually, Daryl felt Rick start to pull away, so he leaned back and somehow levered himself to his feet, unfurling his body and ignoring the dull ache in his knees. Rick did the same, with a sort of a groaning laugh, and sat on the edge of the mattress. He rubbed his hands down his thighs and looked up at Daryl, questioning him with a deep, unwavering gaze.

Daryl put a hand to his mouth, stared down at Rick's upturned face, his soft expression, and thought of all the things he could say to ruin the moment.

Rick spoke first. "Why don't you grab the wine? I'll make sure things are quiet, find us something to eat." He used one of the towels to wipe himself down and then headed for the door.

Daryl stared after him stupidly. "You wanna eat in here?"

"Yeah," Rick said, pausing in the doorway. He ducked his head and smiled down at the floor. "We warmed it up already."

Daryl cleaned himself up a bit. He found a pile of blankets in the closet and made the bed without thinking much about what he was doing, propping himself up against the wall, pillow behind his back, and pulling the blankets up to his waist. Rick was right. The room was warm. Daryl took a couple of swallows of wine, which tasted a whole lot better all of a sudden, and rubbed at his face. He sighed and slumped down further in the bed. He felt scooped out, not tired really but weirdly untroubled, the only thing in him now a dull, almost sweet fear about what would happen next. Maybe he and Rick'd kill the bottle of wine, sleep the sleep of the too fucked out to be really embarrassed, and then pretend the whole thing had never happened. That would be ideal, he thought.

Rick was gone a while. Daryl heard him moving through the cabin, opening and closing the shutters, locking things up tight, looking through the cupboards, but he didn't move from the bed. He thought about what Rick had said, about how they looked after each other. Maybe that's what this was, just one other way they did that. His mind flashed back to the feeling of pulling the panties on, Rick's eyes on him after, how they burned. How much he liked it. He adjusted himself under the blanket. It didn't have to mean nothing.

 

:::

They ate together quietly, companionably, sharing swallows of wine and crackers and peanut butter and preserved peaches in the wavering light of an oil lamp, getting crumbs everywhere. Afterwards, they shook out the covers, carefully ignoring their nudity, and got back in bed together.

"Light out?" Rick asked. He was lying on his side against the wall, one arm folded under his head, facing Daryl.

"I'll stay up, keep watch," Daryl muttered, making to slide out of the bed.

Rick grabbed his wrist. "Stay," he insisted. "It's quiet. We need the rest."

He shrugged and put out the lamp. He got back in bed, lying on his back with his arms behind his head. Rick inched closer, resting his curled hand over Daryl's ribs but otherwise not touching. His long, lean body was a comforting line of heat. Daryl stared up at the shadows of branches creeping across the ceiling until sleep took him.

(In the night, he rolled over and met Rick's elbow, folded sleepily into it, felt Rick curve tight around his body and press a warm hand to his belly.)

 

:::

Daryl woke early and watched the sky lighten in the quiet. Rick was still wrapped around him, but he managed to slip out without waking him. He grabbed his pants from the deck and found an unopened box of pancake mix, whipped up a batch, and started cooking them in a cast iron pan on the Coleman stove. The smell woke Rick. He came out smiling, hair smushed on one side from sleeping hard, wearing a pair of cut-off fleece shorts that were just this side of too tight.

"I wasn't sure I could pull off anything skimpier than this," he said, accepting a paper plate from Daryl and sitting down at the kitchen table.

Daryl didn't tell him he could pull off anything he wanted. That wasn't the way to get out of this with his dignity sort of intact. He just handed him the syrup and went back to the stove, turned his back, waited for the last pancake to cook. He stared down at the bubbles in the batter and tried to figure out how to say it. "What happened last night. I'm not like that. Not always." He flipped the pancake.

Behind him, Rick swallowed audibly and then was quiet for a time. "Like what?"

"The – the panties."

Rick laughed, but it sounded strangled. "Trust me, Daryl. If you were always like that, I'd sure as shit have noticed." He let out a deep, sighing breath. "I noticed anyway."

Daryl flipped the pancake onto his plate and turned around to look at him. He was nearly afraid to ask. "Noticed what?"

"You," Rick said, tilting his head to the side and forcing Daryl to meet his eyes. " _Us_."

Daryl ripped a pancake in half and shoved a huge bite in his mouth, took his time chewing it. "Oh," he said finally.

"Yeah," Rick agreed, nodding. "We good?"

"Yeah," Daryl said, sitting opposite him at the table, letting their knees bump together underneath. "We're good."

**Author's Note:**

> fitofpique.tumblr.com


End file.
